


Ex Post Facto

by Hummingbird1759



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Cinnabon Gene - Freeform, Episode: s05e15 Granite State, Flashbacks, Gen, Jimmy/Kim (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hummingbird1759/pseuds/Hummingbird1759
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four lawyers react to Saul Goodman's disappearance.  Set between "Granite State" and "Felina."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chuck

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Latin for "After the fact." This story takes place after The Extractor gets Saul/Jimmy out of Albuquerque but before the events of Felina.

Chuck had never seen his brother’s TV commercials. He didn’t own a television, of course, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have been up late enough to watch during the hours Jimmy advertised. If Chuck climbed up to the roof of his house, he could have seen a huge “Better Call Saul” billboard and a “Better Call Saul” bus stop ad, but he was never foolish enough to do that, even when he’d been healthy. Not that Jimmy would have cared; they’d stopped speaking to each other long before he started calling himself that ridiculous pseudonym. Chuck refused to use it. _(Slippin’ Jimmy will always be Slippin’ Jimmy.)_

Despite the fissure between them, he kept tabs on his kid brother. He read the _Albuquerque Journal_ every day, clipped every article mentioning his brother, and asked Howard for information when he visited. By all accounts, his brother continued his old habits and played every dirty trick in the book to get his clients exonerated. Jimmy had always acted if the rules didn’t apply to him and now he made sure that the rules didn’t apply to anybody else, either – as long as they had money. His brother was a walking caricature of everything about the law.

In a perverse way, the stories vindicated Chuck. Jimmy was _not_ a real lawyer, and he was _exactly_ as destructive as a chimp with a machine gun. He was and always would be Slippin’ Jimmy, and a new name and a law degree wouldn’t change that.

When the Heisenberg case broke and the extent of Jimmy’s involvement came out, Chuck was horrified. It wasn’t that Jimmy had represented Heisenberg; the elder McGill held it sacred that even the worst criminals deserved an adequate defense, and if his brother had been a different sort of lawyer, he would have been proud. _(Unfortunately, Jimmy is Jimmy. Whatever "assistance” he gave Heisenberg not only went beyond legal advice but beyond what’s legal. He’ll get himself disbarred or sent to prison this time, the idiot.)_

Chuck spent two weeks pacing the floor, hoping for… what he didn’t know. There was no way to bail out Slippin’ Jimmy this time, no way for big brother to fix this. _(But when he comes back, I’ll find a way to try.)_ He knew what the Cartel did to guys like his brother; this time, prison was the least of Jimmy’s worries. 

Two weeks after Jimmy disappeared, Chuck got the knock at the door that he’d been dreading. He invited the officers in, and they sat him down, looked him in the eye, and gently told him that his little brother’s body had been found in an arroyo on an Indian reservation. Chuck didn’t catch the details; all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears. He heard himself ask if they were sure it was Jimmy, although he couldn’t remember having that thought. The male officer quietly explained that there hadn’t been any ID on the body, but they’d run the fingerprints and found a match with Jimmy’s copious arrest record back in Cicero.

“Do you have anyone else you’d like us to notify, Mr. McGill?” The female officer asked.

He told them to call Howard – he could notify HHM and keep a lid on any scandal that brewed.

Two days later, when the funeral home arrived with the urn that they said contained the mortal remains of his brother, Chuck nodded numbly and told them thank you.

Chuck closed the door and placed the urn on the mantle – that’s what people do with these things, right? Next, he did the only thing that had ever brought him solace: work. First, he sent the kid that brought his newspapers over to Jimmy’s condo with a list of items to retrieve.

The younger man cocked an eyebrow when he studied the list. “Photo albums, the jewelry box, Jimmy’s will, and… a Led Zeppelin shirt?”

Chuck smiled wanly. “Zeppelin came to town a few times while I was on break from law school. Jimmy went with me to most of them.”

The kid smiled and said he understood, and dutifully returned a few hours later with the requested items. After the kid left, he found that Jimmy had updated his will a year earlier and, to Chuck’s utter shock, Jimmy left everything to him. He marveled at the thought that after all this time, Jimmy didn’t have anybody else – a wife, a girlfriend, a child, hell, even a boyfriend?

Playing it safe, Chuck placed Jimmy’s death notice in the Albuquerque and Chicago papers. He braced himself for the arrival of a posse of heretofore-unknown nieces and nephews, but none appeared.

After Chuck settled up with Jimmy’s creditors, held an estate sale, and received the life insurance, he found himself in custody of bank accounts with an uncomfortable number of zeros at the end. He didn’t need his brother’s money; he had plenty of his own. But Chuck had no heirs (Howard resolutely did _not_ count), meaning that if he didn’t spend the money, it would go to the state of New Mexico upon his death. He certainly couldn’t have that. 

Chuck stewed about the issue for a few days and then it hit him. _(The only time Jimmy ever made me proud was when he went straight._ _Helping others do the same would be a wonderful legacy for him.)_ He established the James M. McGill Memorial Scholarship at UNM for ex-convicts and former juvenile offenders who “demonstrated ability and motivation to reform their lives.” He donated the remainder of Jimmy’s estate to the local alternative high school and job training programs for prisons.

When it was all finally settled and done, the papers signed, the accounts closed, and everyone with their hand out had their palm crossed with silver, Chuck sank onto the couch, forlorn. After a few minutes, his expression hardened into rage and he sprang up and began pacing in front of the mantle.

Chuck shouted, “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Jimmy! I’m nine years older than you, for Christ’s sake! You were supposed to be the one to do all this for me! _You_ were supposed to be the one left alone! You’d done so well when you first came to Albuquerque, you had such a good thing going and you _blew_ it! God, I wish you were here just so I could shake some sense into you!”

He couldn’t tell if he was trembling from rage or grief. He stood and snorted like a bull facing off with a matador, trying to steady his hands. He recalled the final years of Slippin’ Jimmy, when he worried that his brother would cross the wrong guy and get himself killed.

“I spent my thirties steeling myself for this moment,” he said quietly to the empty room. His voice broke as he continued, “I thought I was prepared. Hell, how many years has it been since we’ve even _spoken_? I shouldn’t be this upset.”

Chuck sat down with the urn on his lap, and for a moment it was the summer between third and fourth grade, and Mom had just handed him the new baby brother that no one thought he’d ever have.

_“Now, you’ll have to keep him safe,” Mom told him. “That’s a big brother’s job.”_

_“I promise, Mom,” Chuck said solemnly._

Until today, Charles McGill had never felt like a failure.


	2. Kim

During her thirties, Kim Wexler learned to hate e-mails that had a person’s first and last name as the subject line. If “John Doe” was the subject, the message never said something like, “John won the PowerBall, so he has resigned and he and his family are moving to Tahiti” or, “John will be out of the office for the next three months because his novel is a best-seller and he will be on a book tour” or even, “John’s blueberry muffin recipe won first place at the county fair and he brought in samples for everyone.”

No, an e-mail with the subject line “John Doe” almost always contained bad news: an unplanned departure, a major illness, or death.   And so, when Kim checked her e-mail one spring morning and saw an e-mail from Howard with the subject line “Jimmy McGill”, her breath hitched and the color drained from her face.

Howard’s message was short and to the point: _“It is with great sadness that HHM announces the death of Jimmy McGill, former HHM staff member and brother of founding partner Chuck McGill. Per family request, no services will be held. Flowers and notes of condolence may be sent to Chuck through Howard Hamlin’s assistant.”_

Kim gaped at the monitor for a moment. The idea that Jimmy is – _was_ – mortal tied her brain into a knot and it took her a moment to untangle it. _(God, poor Chuck. Losing a sibling is torturous enough, but when he’s so much younger, it’s just incredibly unfair.)_

Kim shook her head to clear out her mind and got back to work; she had a long day ahead of her and couldn’t think about the McGill brothers just yet.

When she left work that evening, she pulled out her phone and called the number at the top of her frequent contacts.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m running behind; can you get the boys from daycare?”

“Sure,” her husband replied, and she could hear the smile on his face. “How late do you think you’ll be?”

“Not long, maybe another hour or two,” Kim said, shifting in the driver’s seat. _(Just off to mourn my old boyfriend, no big deal…)_

“OK, darlin’. Love you, don’t work too hard,” he said.

“Love you too,” Kim replied, and smiled despite the sadness in her guts.

She drove to the hotel where Jimmy showed her how to pull a scam all those years ago. The sun was already on its way down and it was too cold to get in the pool, so Kim sidled up to the bar and bought a shot of Zafiro Añjeo.

The hotel’s name had changed and the décor had been updated, but it seemed so similar that Kim felt as if any minute Jimmy would walk in and slide onto the barstool next to her. “ _Can you believe Howard fell for that crap? Me, dead? Yeah, right!”_

After finishing the tequila, Kim ordered a decaf coffee and stepped out onto the patio next to the pool. Up above, the stars twinkled, and she remembered that night with Jimmy, before everything went to hell, before he went down the road that she had so desperately hoped he’d avoid. _(I knew the Saul Goodman thing would end badly, but I had no idea it would be this bad…)_

As she gazed skyward, she wondered if Jimmy was up there watching her. _(Wherever he is, I hope he’s finally free of his demons. He deserves that.)_

A dinging phone interrupted her reverie, and she looked down to see a text from her husband. The message read “Dinner is served” and the attached photo was their two-year-old twins’ attempt at eating spaghetti. Kim chuckled fondly and texted that she was on her way home.

Kim raised her cup in salute of Jimmy and the potential they’d once had, then paid her tab and made her way back to the life she’d built.


	3. Howard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't originally planned to give Howard a turn, but then this popped into my head. Taking a few liberties with Howard's backstory here, hope you like it.

Howard sank into his favorite chair with a glass of scotch, the house shrouded in darkness.   When he got the phone call yesterday, he didn’t think it would have had this effect on him; after all, he hadn’t seen Jimmy in several years, and it wasn’t as if the two of them were friends. Hell, the guy once called him a pig fucker. Howard had played the dutiful junior partner, falling on his sword to keep Chuck’s image of caring big brother intact. _(But Jimmy was smarter than Chuck anticipated, and he figured it out anyway…)_

He recalled the day Jimmy had passed the bar and Chuck had emphatically told Howard not to hire him. At the time, he understood; Jimmy was a newly minted lawyer from a no-name school, and firms like HHM didn’t hire lawyers like that. He thought that Chuck was merely trying to avoid the appearance of nepotism.

When Jimmy had brought in the Sandpiper case, Howard was certain Chuck would change his mind.   A twenty million dollar class action suit, spanning multiple states and hundreds of plaintiffs; how many lawyers can go their entire _careers_ without a case like that? But Chuck was adamant that Jimmy could never rise above his criminal past and there would never be a second M in HHM.

Howard knew why Chuck’s treatment of Jimmy burned him up so much, and it was the one topic he and Chuck had an unspoken agreement never to discuss. _(Richard.)_

Most staff at HHM thought that Howard was an only child, but the few who’d been there from the beginning knew that Howard was actually the younger of founder David Hamlin’s two sons. Richard, the elder, had been deceased for more than ten years, and at this point Howard was content not to correct people when they assumed he had no siblings. _(People think it’s an innocuous question, and if all your siblings are still above ground, it is. For the rest of us, it’s just too awkward.)_

Richard had been much like Jimmy, only he hadn’t succeeded in turning his life around the way Jimmy had before he became Saul. Their wayward family members were one thing that Chuck and Howard had in common, although they had very different ideas about how to handle them.

_“I can’t believe you!” Chuck said, incredulous. “Why do you keep giving him handouts?”_

_“I’m not giving him a handout; I’m giving him a choice,” Howard countered. “He’s made it clear that he wants another chance and I’m not going to stand in the way.  Hell, isn’t that part of our job? To give clients a second chance?”_

_“Our job is to see that justice is done,” Chuck snorted, and turned back to his computer._

Two months later, Richard died of a drug overdose. Chuck offered his condolences at the funeral, but after that, he and Howard never spoke of Richard again.

_(Maybe I gave my brother too many chances, but Chuck didn’t give Jimmy enough.)_ He’d tried to subtly make this point after Chuck got sick, giving him all the leeway in the world while he could still work and dozens of chances to return, but it didn’t seem to get through to him. Howard sighed as he drained his glass. He supposed it didn’t matter anymore; they had both lost this argument.

Howard poured himself another scotch and raised it to Jimmy and Richard. After draining this one, he slunk off to bed, hoping that a good night’s sleep would wipe away the defeat on his face.


	4. Gene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically not a lawyer anymore, but who's counting?

It’s an unseasonably cold night in Omaha, and Gene is again nursing a Rusty Nail and wallowing in memories. Tonight, however, it’s not Saul’s memories that haunt him, but Jimmy’s. A decade ago tonight, he spoke to his mother for the last time.

_Mom seemed smaller and more fragile than he recalled; in his childhood, she loomed large, but lying on the bed now, she was a wraith, neither completely in this world nor completely in the next._

_Jimmy had so many things to tell her, most of them apologies. Sorry for all the trouble he got into, sorry for everything he did to Dad, sorry for making her worry, sorry for bringing his second ex-wife into their lives, sorry he hadn’t been a better son._

_Mom gave him a luminous smile and looked up at him with unbelievable kindness. “Jimmy, your brother told me about how well you’ve turned your life around. I couldn’t be prouder.”_

_He started to stammer out an apology, but Mom stopped him. “All that’s in the past, young man. Focus on what you need to do now – look after Chuck.”_

_Jimmy gave her a skeptical look. “Me? Look after_ him _?”_

_“Your brother isn’t going to handle this well, Jimmy. He’ll bury himself in his work, and that’s the last thing he needs. After your grandmother died, I gave Chuck her wedding rings; maybe you can help him find someone to give them to,” she said with a wink._

Jimmy had failed at that task, although it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. He knew Mom would understand that, and she would be proud of the way he took care of Chuck after he got sick. He’d had to find someone else to bear that burden when he and Chuck could no longer tolerate each other, but hopefully the last thing he did for his brother would make it up to her.

_“Do you have any family?” The Extractor asked him. The expression on his face said that Saul had better tell the whole truth._

_“Uh… my brother, but I haven’t spoken to him in years,” Saul replied._

_“Doesn’t matter,” The Extractor said. “He could still look for you, and if he does, your enemies will find out and they’ll use him to get to you.”_

_Saul heard Jimmy in his voice when he protested, “But he doesn’t know anything.”_

_“The people who are after you won’t care,” The Extractor said with a pointed look._

_“All right,” Saul sighed. “Just… whatever body you get to substitute for me, don’t let him see it. Tell him you’re sure it’s me because you ran my prints.”_

Gene swirled his drink. Earlier that day, he’d picked up a copy of the _Chicago Tribune_ on a whim and saw the death notice for James “Jimmy” McGill, aka Saul Goodman, which listed Charles McGill as his next of kin. _(Chuck knows. But more importantly, Chuck is safe.)_

He hoped that would be good enough.


End file.
